


Nothin' Stupid

by WillowPerpetua



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, PWP, Super Bowl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowPerpetua/pseuds/WillowPerpetua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Patriots win the Super Bowl, Sebastian surprises Chris at his hotel, but Chris can't get his head out of the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothin' Stupid

Title inspired, to some degree, by this gif (the gif is not mine).   


* * *

 

The game is over, but the rush of victory is still flowing through Chris when he checks his phone.   
**Looks like you won your bet!**  
Sebastian texted. Of course Sebastian texted. Chris smiles at his phone, but the crunch of people swooping in to take pictures and the roar of the mass of people all around him makes a reply impossible.   
  
  
  
There is a party. It is loud and dark, the flashing lights throw everything into chaos and the music pumping through the speakers is disorienting. Still, the Patriots won. Chris saw that game. He can still feel that energy, the whole crowd cheering on their feet. Chris holds out for one more drink before he calls it a night and retreats to the sweet, quiet relief of his hotel room.   
  
  
  
_Finally_ , Chris thinks, as he sweeps the keycard and opens the door. _Alone_. He heaves a sigh of relief and shuts the door, leaning against it.   
_Or_ , he realizes as he opens his eyes again and looks at the bed, _not as alone as he thought_.   
  
“You’re telling me,” Sebastian says, smiling up at Chris, shirtless under the blankets, “that after all that you didn’t even bring somebody up to your room?” He says it with good humor, but Chris knows when he is being scolded.  
  
“Shit, Seb. I’m sorry! I should have texted you back.” He says. “Things just got a little—“  
  
“I figured.” Sebastian says, raising his eyebrows.   
  
“Wait.” Chris says, one eyebrow rising slightly, “What are you doing here?” Sebastian draws one knee up, the comforter rumpling to reveal just a hint of his bare thigh beneath it.   
  
“Nothing stupid.” He replies.

Chris can’t take it anymore. Still soaring from the victory and the buzz from the party, and the sight of Sebastian Stan in his bed, he crosses the room in three strides. He tackles Sebastian, a tangle of limbs and lips, kissing his lips and jaw and neck with the fervor of a thousand screaming fans. Sebastian responds in kind, rucking up Chris’s shirt and, marking him up with long scratches across his shoulders and back. They both go for the buttons of his jeans at the same time, fingers brushing against each other in the scramble.   
  
“We’re on the same team here, okay?” Chris says, eyes meeting Sebastian’s.   
  
“Yeah.” Sebastian nods.   
  
Things are easier after that; They are all a blur of soft touches and loud moans. Chris feels as if this night could not possibly get any better, and then it _does._ Sebastian’s body feels exactly the way he remembers. It’s like they were never apart.   
  
“Oh god, Sebastian.” He says, burying his head into the crook of Sebastian’s neck as he pounds away, his hands sliding up and down Sebastian’s sides, around his shoulders and arms, back down to his hips, just trying to hang on.   
  
“Aw, fuck.” Sebastian moans, his hands slide into Chris’s hair and pull just enough. Chris throws his head back sharply.   
  
“Baby, you have no idea how good you feel.” Chris says.   
  
“Better than football?” Sebastian asks. Chris laughs.  
  
“I don’t know if I’m aloud to say that anything is better than football tonight.” He answers, pressing a kiss to Sebastian’s cheek. Sebastian nods, suddenly pensive, then flips them. He straddles Chris, his movements slower and more deliberate. He runs his hands along Chris’s chest, drawing a gasp from him when he squeezes his nipples. Sebastian leans forward and sucks at the spot just below Chris’s jaw that always drives him absolutely berserk while he rides him with calculated intensity. Chris pants below him, his eyes glazed, completely at Sebastian’s mercy. 

  
When Chris comes, it is because Sebastian wants him to come. Chris feels as if he is forgiven for his faux pas when he finally spills, gripping Sebastian’s hips for dear life while he is ridden through to the other side. It feels like winning all over again.   
Sebastian strokes his hair and kisses him, allowing Chris to roll them over again. Chris watches from above as Sebastian finally tips over the edge with Chris’s hand around him and he knows that he was so very wrong.   
  
This is much, much better than football.    
  



End file.
